June
Mayson and Evan Barrister’s whirlwind courtship resulted in a secret marriage
right before he left for boot camp. Evan knows deep in his gut that June is too
good for him, but after getting a taste of the beautiful life they can have
together, he’s unwilling to let her go. June promises to wait for him, knowing
neither time or distance will ever change her feelings for Evan—that is until
she’s served with divorce papers while he’s overseas and she’s forced to let
him go.

Her
marriage and divorce a well-kept secret, the last person June expects to run
into when she moves back to her hometown is Evan. Angry over the past, she does
everything within her power to ignore the pull she feels whenever he is near.
But how can she ignore the pain she sees every time their eyes meet? How can
she fight the need to soothe him even if she knows she’s liable to get hurt
once again?

Is it
possible for June and Evan to find their way back to each other again? Or will
they be stopped by an outside force before they ever have a shot?

Prologue

Looking at my reflection in the mirror across from me, I
cringe. My hair is a disaster, there are bags under my eyes, and the nightgown
I have on isn’t even one of the cute ones I normally wear. It’s the one my
sister, December, got me as a joke, but I wear it occasionally, because its
comfortable, even if it was made for a woman three times my age. Resting my
elbows on the desk in front of me, I run my fingers through my hair, pulling
the strands back away from my face.

“I hate men,” I whisper into the empty interrogation room,
where I was told to wait over an hour ago after the police kicked in my door
and dragged me from my bed. Lifting my gaze, I look at myself in the mirror
again and vow that whenever I get out of the mess my ex-boyfriend has gotten me
into, I’m going to learn how to be a lesbian, even if I’m not sure that’s
actually possible.

“June Mayson.” Turning my head, I look over my shoulder at
the now open door behind me, and my eyes meet those of a man who reminds me of
my dad. He looks to be in his mid-forties, and is one of those men time has
been kind to. He’s built, with dark hair that’s cut short and parted on the
side. His eyes are a blue that stands out against his dark lashes and tan skin.
“I’m Officer Mitchell, and this is Officer Plymouth.” He nods behind him and is
followed in by a man who must be playing the roll off ‘Bad Cop’, judging by the
frown on his face and the look he gives me when our eyes meet. Time hasn’t been
as kind to him; he looks like he has enjoyed one too many beers. His middle is
soft, and his skin doesn’t look healthy.

Nodding, I cross my arms over my chest and run my hands
down the bare skin of my biceps that’s chilled from the cool air coming from
the vent above me.

“Would you like something to drink?” Officer Mitchell asks
as he walks fully into the room.

Shaking my head, I mutter, “No, thank you.”

“Hot chocolate?” he offers, and I feel tears burn the back
of my eyes. Since I was little, whenever I was having a bad day, my dad would
offer me hot chocolate. His hot chocolate has magical powers that always make
everything seem okay, but I doubt police station hot chocolate would have the
same effect.

“No, thanks. I’d just like to know why I’m here,” I tell
him as he takes a seat in the metal chair across from me and places a thick
folder on the table between us.

“We may be here awhile, Miss Mayson, so I’d like you to be
comfortable,” he says gently, and I look at Officer Plymouth, who is leaning
against the wall, then back to him.

“I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Mitchell, but I’d really
like to get to the point. I have class in a few hours and I’d really like to
make it on time.”

Surprisingly, Officer Plymouth slips off his suit jacket
and walks it over to me, placing it around my shoulders.

‘Thank you,” I whisper up at him, and his eyes soften
around the edges. Pulling my eyes from him, my gaze goes back toward Officer
Mitchell.

“How long have you known Lane Diago?” Officer Mitchell
asks, and I sit up a little taller.

“I don’t know anyone by that name,” I tell him, and he
opens the file folder, fanning out a few pictures of my ex-boyfriend, Aaron,
and me directly in front of me. Each of them were taken while we were a couple,
showing we had been followed more than a few times. Him coming to my
apartment…him kissing me outside my car…at the store, walking hand-in-hand down
the aisles…at the movies…out to dinner…both of us doing normal couple things.

“You mean Aaron?”

“That what he told you his name was?” he asks, and I nod
looking up at him.

“I’ve known him for about a year,” I whisper, dropping my
eyes to the pictures again, realizing I actually didn’t know him, since his
name isn’t even Aaron.

“How long have you two been dating?” he inquires, and my
eyes drop to the pictures once more.

“We dated for about four months. I broke up with him a
month ago,” I tell him truthfully as a feeling of sadness hits me unexpectedly.
I wasn’t in love with Aaron—or Lane. Not even close. But I cared about him, and
believed he cared about me as well. That was, until he sent me a text to meet
him at his house. When I got there, one of his roommates let me in, and I found
him up in his room with Susie Detrei’s mouth around his cock, proving I was wrong
about him.

“You were close,” Officer Mitchell states, and I nod
because we were, or I thought we were. “Can you tell me who this man is?” he
asks, pulling out a picture of Aaron’s—Lane’s
cousin, or at least the guy he told me
was his cousin.

“Overhear them talking?” I ask, looking at a picture of
Cody and Lane sitting in what looks like a bar, Lane with his favorite beer in
his hand, and Cody with a short, wide glass with dark liquid and ice on the bar
top in front of him, and his hand wrapped around it while he laughs at
something.

“Overhear them talking about anything out of the
ordinary?”

“No.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Maybe if you told me exactly why I’m here, I can give you
the information you’re looking for.”

“Lane Diago’s uncle is one of the biggest distributors of
illegal narcotics in Alabama, Kentucky, Tennessee, Mississippi, Georgia, and
South Carolina.”

“What?” I whisper as my eyes focus on one of the pictures
of Lane and me standing outside my apartment. I was wearing a short colorful
summer dress and gold strappy sandals, and Lane had on a pair of black cargo
shorts and a plain white tee. His head was bent toward mine, my hand was
resting against his chest, and his was wrapped tight around my hip. It was our
third date and our first kiss. I had waited forever to even go on a date with
him, because I wasn’t ready for a relationship. I finally gave in to him,
because he was so persistent. He asked me out every time we saw each other, and
he was always dramatic in the way he did it.

“Did you ever see—”

“I never saw anything,” I cut him off. “Lane didn’t even
smoke pot, and almost everyone I know smokes pot,” I whisper, pulling my eyes
from the picture to look at him.

“You two were together a lot. He would have you drop him
places. My men saw you on more than one occasion.”

“To friends’ houses,” I tell him, suddenly finding it hard
to breathe. “If he asked me to drop him to a friend’s or to run him somewhere
when we were going out, I would do it, but I never saw him do anything
illegal.”

“Do you understand you can go to prison if we find out you
spent any of the money he earned from selling drugs on things for yourself.”

Laughing, I cover my face with my hands and lay my head on
the table while I try to pull myself together. I probably shouldn’t be laughing
right now but its either laugh or cry.

“What do you find funny about this?” Officer Plymouth
asks, and I lift my head to look at him.

“I paid for us to do things more than once, and he even
asked me for gas money a couple of times. I never, not once, took money from
him, not even for a coffee,” I tell him, and his eyes go to Officer Mitchell,
who mutters, “Fuck.”

“He cheated on me a month ago, and I haven’t talked to him
since then,” I tell him, and he shakes his head.

“We have time stamps for phone calls between the two of
you over the last month.”

“Did you ever look at how long those calls lasted?” I ask,
knowing that if he did, he would know we didn’t actually talk. “He called. He
called over and over. Finally, I had to pick up to tell him to stop calling me.
I didn’t want anything to do with him a month ago, and I sure as hell don’t
want anything to do with him now.”

“I’m sorry. I swear that if I knew anything, I would help
you out, but I don’t. Lane never told me anything, and I sure as hell didn’t
see anything. If I had, I would have talked to my uncle about it.”

“You’re sure you didn’t see anything, hear anything?”

“I’m sure,” I tell him, wishing I did know something, not
because I’m a rat, but because I know what drugs can do to people. I know not
everyone dies from using drugs, not everyone’s life goes to shit from using
them, but my best roommate freshmen year of college overdosed and died, and
that was only after she turned into a completely different person. Someone I
didn’t like much. Someone I couldn’t trust. So, there’s no way I would ever
protect anyone who is responsible for supplying those drugs, no matter how much
I care about them.

“Would you be willing to get back in with Lane?” Officer
Plymouth asks, bringing my attention to him. My heart flips in my chest at the
thought, but I don’t get a chance to answer, because someone bangs hard on the
glass mirror in front of me, causing my image to go funny.

About the Author:

Aurora Rose Reynolds is a navy brat who's
husband served in the United States Navy. She has lived all over the country
but now resides in New York City with her Husband and pet fish. She's married
to an alpha male that loves her as much as the men in her books love their
women. He gives her over the top inspiration everyday. In her free time she
reads, writes and enjoys going to the movies with her husband and cookie. She
also enjoys taking mini weekend vacations to nowhere, or spends time at home
with friends and family. Last but not least she appreciates everyday and
admires it's beauty.